Steven Brust - Jhegaala

Well, yeah, but I was the one who had to piss off the whole Jhereg. What was I thinking, anyway? Heroic rescue my ass. Maybe I was just trying to come up with a good excuse to jump off the ship because I didn't want the humiliation of running it into the rocks.

Okay, Vlad. Settle down. This is getting you nowhere. Take a deep breath, another slug of wine, and try to bloody concentrate . You have a problem. It isn't the first problem you've ever had. Unless you get stupid, it won't be the last. So look at it, analyze it, treat it like the others.

Crap.

When you reach the point of needing to tell yourself how to think, you've already gone beyond the point where you're willing to listen. Or maybe that's just me.

I tried to remember why I'd decided not to get drunk, and I couldn't, so I called over the barmaid and asked for decent brandy. She returned with a bottle of Veeragkasher, which qualifies, I think. After the third glass I didn't care, in any case.

Loiosh tells me I got myself to bed all right. He also tells me I didn't even make it halfway through the bottle. How humiliating.

Sometimes we're treated better than we deserve. I not only woke up feeling fine the next morning, I also woke up. I went down the hall to the cistern, got some hot water, and spent some time getting clean and pretty. Then I walked over to my window and, standing to the side, looked out at the street. It was gray and wet outside, but no longer raining. I continued watching for a couple of minutes, and then the Furnace appeared, making the wet streets glisten. I could have decided it was an omen, the Furnace coming out like that to brighten things, only it was doing the same thing for my enemies.

Well, no doubt it promised good fortune to someone, about something. Omens always prove true if you just allow them enough room to work.

I spent a few more minutes watching the bizarre spectacle of steam rising from the streets, then went downstairs to the jug room and got some coffee. With enough honey and heavy cream, it was drinkable, but I made a vow that someday I would return here, buy this man a klava press, and teach him how to use it. Or else maybe kill him.

All right, I knew what I was going to do, and I'd already worked out how to do it—I kept that much of my original plan intact. I returned to my room and dressed as well as I could with what I had with me; I've looked better, leave it at that. I took out the Imperial Seal Her Majesty had given me for being an idiot in a good cause—sorry, long story— and folded it up in a square of red silk, which I then sealed with wax and a ring that went with yet another seal, that one in the possession of my grandfather. I put the sealed package, about the size of my palm, in my cloak and went back downstairs to continue waking up.

Eventually the coffee did its work, and my brain started performing in a semblance of its usual manner. I asked the host where the Count's manor was, and was given a scowl, a suspicious look, and directions that were a good ten miles from town. Which meant I could either spend all day walking there and then back, or...

I sighed and asked if there was anyone who rented horses. Yes, in fact, he did; there were stables in the back, and a stable-boy who would help me pick one out if I showed him a chit. How much? Okay.

"Quit laughing, Loiosh."

"Boss, sometimes you just ask the impossible.”

The muscle aches had completely vanished, so I might as well get new ones. I went back to the table and took my time finishing my coffee, then walked out the back door to the stables, I suppose much the way a man might walk to the Executioner's Star.

This "stable-boy" was somewhat older than I was, balding, tall, and had piercing black eyes as well as enough girth to make me feel sorry for the horses. When he began to take the equipment down I got a look at his right biceps. Maybe part of his job was picking up the horses, I don't know.

He didn't say a lot as he worked, just grunted when I explained I wanted a horse that would let me stay on top of him, and wouldn't do anything to embarrass me. He picked out a rather fat-looking horse that is I think the color horse people call "sorrel" though it looked brown to me. If it's brown, why can't they call it brown?

He led it up to me, helped guide my foot into the stirrup, and held it while I mounted; then he went around and got my other foot placed.

"Her name is Marsi," he said.

"All right."

Marsi seemed indifferent to the proceedings, which pleased me. I felt very, very tall. Too tall. Anything that high up is liable to come down again.

I got going in the right direction, and tried not to let my teeth knock against each other. Marsi, may all the blessings be upon her, walked significantly faster than I did, and felt this meant she had no need to trot, canter, gallop, or turn handsprings. I made a vow to give a nice tip to the stable-boy for not being one of the practical-joking sort one hears about.

The morning grew warm; I removed my cloak and draped it over Marsi's back— which is much tougher than it sounds on horseback. Thanks to his kindness and Marsi's good nature, as well as the directions from the host, I felt as good as could be expected by the time I saw the double row of trees that had been described as the entrance to the manor.

It was a long ride to the manor itself, during which I rode by gardeners who glanced at me as if uncertain if they were supposed to make an obeisance. It gradually occurred to me that a lot of the doubt came from the horse. I was, perhaps, the only human within a hundred-mile circle who didn't consider himself an expert on horseflesh, and I was probably doing the equivalent of Morrolan riding up to the Ascension Day Ball in a hay wagon.

Well, that's all right, Marsi; I love you anyway.

Some sort of groom, wearing shiny buttons, stood outside the door of the gray stone manor, perfectly positioned at the bottom of the shallow stairway between two white pillars that flanked the red wood doorway. A man-at-arms stood next to each pillar, appearing part of the decoration; they wore red and green and metal hats and each carried some sort of ax-like weapon that was taller than the guy wielding it. It didn't look very practical, but, on the other hand, I'd hate to have one swung at me.

I felt myself come under their gaze. They didn't move, exactly, but they were certainly paying attention. One had the most impressive mustache I think I've ever seen: a massive thing that curled its way well past the sides of his face, held in place by a special sort of waxy-glue that I knew was sold in South Adrilankha. I'd never used it, myself. The other one had a bit of reddish hair peeking out from under his tin hat; I guessed he wasn't a native Fenarian.

If I had to, I could take them both. Enough said.

As I approached, the groom looked at me, frowned, and hesitated. I didn't—I climbed down off the horse, thanking Verra that I managed the trick with a semblance of grace, and kept myself from teetering only by dropping my body weight as my grandfather had taught me to do when fencing. I don't think I looked ridiculous. I took the cloak from the back of the horse, then put the reins into the groom's hand before he could decide he didn't want them. I threw my cloak over my shoulder. I can look good doing that because I've practiced, and no, I'm not proud of that. I said, "Baron Vladimir Merss to see His Lordship. See to my horse while I have someone announce me."

If I were going to give myself a new name, why not give myself a new title to go with it?

The groom barely hesitated, then said, "Yes, my lord."

I waited while he led the horse away, watching closely as if I were uncertain he knew his business; in fact, I didn't want to try walking just yet the way my legs were shaking. The guards watched me without appearing to—I know that trick. I have no idea if I fooled them with the watching the groom thing; probably not.